


A Heart of Stone Is No Better Than a Heart of Ice (But Does Not Shatter So Easily)

by chibipooh



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Developing Friendships, Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-20
Updated: 2015-01-05
Packaged: 2018-02-09 17:10:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1991007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibipooh/pseuds/chibipooh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before there was Chrom and the Shepherds and a war to be fought, there was Basilio and Ferox and the two lost kids who found shelter in his kindness. Life in Regna Ferox is bitter and cold, but the two will soon learn that the warmth of a good friend is stronger than even the brightest flame.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lon'qu and Olivia do not become friends.

The first time he sees her is at Basilio’s return feast. She spends the entire evening by the Khan’s side, looking as if she is trying to physically retreat into herself, and Basilio, as always, does most of the talking, but all eyes are still on her. Lon'qu can easily see why; she must be one of the most beautiful women he's ever been terrified of.

The people in Regna Ferox are one with the ice and cold, as hardened as the rocks that make their great fortress walls, and beauty here means the glint of your sword as it goes into your enemy. But there is a warmth radiating from this girl, one that no fire could replicate, one she hardly seems aware of herself, and it’s so strong even Lon’qu finds himself glancing her way more than once throughout the meal.

He decides then to stay away from her at all costs. But because the gods have never cared about his wants, it’s not even ten minutes later when Basilio calls him over to welcome his newest charge.

  
“Olivia, meet Lon’qu. If he looks like a complete stick in the mud, it’s because he is. Damn good with a sword though,” bellows the man, already more than a little drunk. Olivia dips slightly, her long braids bobbing.

  
“I-it’s a pleasure to meet you.” She’s shaking, and he wonders if she’s as bad with men as he is with women.

  
“Mhmm,” he says with a slight incline of his head. It’s all he’s able to say, not because he hates her but because standing so close to such a woman makes him simultaneously want to jump from the castle’s highest tower and drown in the freezing waters of the river that surround the castle. His sparse reply only makes her more nervous and she’s twiddling her thumbs now.

  
Basilio watches the entire awkward exchange with more amusement than necessary.

“Don’t take it personally, my girl,” he says lazily, patting Lon’qu on the shoulder so hard he shakes. “Women are a foreign species to this poor boy.”

  
The look Basilio gives her then is nothing short of pure adoration. He looks at her not with the eyes one might use on a lover but something softer, more protective, like a kind father or an older brother perhaps. (Lon'qu can’t really be sure as he’s never truly experienced either.) Olivia only nods in return, the crimson never leaving her face, and what a sight the two of them must be standing there and blushing like a pair of idiots.

  
Basilio finally spots some other Feroxi lord he has yet to introduce Olivia to, and he shepherds her away from the swordsman without so much as another word, which is fine is perfectly fine by him.

  
It’s easy to avoid people in a castle so big. If he’s careful, he won’t have to see any more of that girl ever again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basilio can't sleep. Lon'qu pays the price.

He sees more of her almost immediately.

As far as being champion goes, the “fighting to the death to defend the Khan’s right to rule the country” part is the aspect most people remember about the job. Few realize that the duties of the champion also include being at the Khan’s beck and call at every minute of every hour of every blasted day. So if their great leader suddenly decides some time past midnight that he won’t be able to sleep without a soothing cup of chamomile tea in his hands, even though the kitchen fires have closed for the night, then it is the champion’s job to drag themselves out of their own extremely comfortable bed to brave the harsh night to get the goddamn firewood to make some damn tea so they all may sleep in peace.

Sometimes, Lon'qu wants to up and quit completely, just to wipe the smug grin off Basilio's face. But then he remembers he has nowhere else to go, that there's not a single person he knows on this continent and scores of people he wishes he didn't know on the next, so he may as well go get the damn tea. 

The door to the wood storage is slightly ajar, and he can see the faint flickering that signals a candle. Hand on the hilt of his blade (What kind of champion would he be if he didn’t wear his weapon to bed?), he enters the room.

“You should know better than to light a flame in here of all places,” he says sternly.

The other person in the room gives a small shriek, dropping several wooden logs to the ground. Pink hair gleams in the dim light. There is only one person in the castle with hair like that; the usual tightness grabs hold in his chest when he realizes who he’s in the room with.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to cause any trouble,” Olivia sputters out. Grip on his sword loosening ever so slightly, Lon’qu shuffles awkwardly past her to the pile of wood. He doesn’t bother to reply. Ignoring the feeling of her eyes boring into her back, he reaches towards some logs.

“What are you doing up so late?” she asks finally. With a huff, he draws a large pile of wood onto his shoulder, gazing down at her.

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?” Her face goes red at that and she looks down, fiddling with the end of one of her braids.

“I was cold, so I thought I’d light myself a fire,” she admits, sounding a lot like a child caught sticking their hand into the stew. He understands that sentiment. His first night at the Fort was so cold that the tears literally froze in his eyes before they could fall (And that had been on a summer night in Ferox.) Yet it had never occurred to him even once during that horrible night to light his own fire, instead suffering through it and arriving to breakfast the next morning with his hands nearly frozen solid.

Even though Lon’qu wants nothing more for this conversation to be over so he can make Basilio’s tea then collapse back into bed and wait for the sweet abyss of unconsciousness to claim him, he asks, “Why don’t you summon one of the servants? It’s their job to light the fires."

Olivia tilts her head. “If only servants light the fires and you’re in here collecting firewood,” she asks, “then what does that make you?”

Lon’qu blinks in surprise, not sure how to respond. Nearly a full, tense, silent minute passes before she pulls back, “I’m sorry, that-that wasn’t my place to say. I’ll just be going...”

Before she can leave, he points to a pile behind her.

“The good wood here is solely for kitchen staff. The wood you want to heat your room is over there,” he says bluntly. She blinks, then nods, turning to the pile to gather up her items. He wonders if he should offer to help her carry her load, not even sure how to voice the question, but before he can ask she already has a large pile of logs in her arms. It has to be thirty pounds at least, yet her arms don’t even shake. Olivia gives him one last nod.

“Good night, Lon’qu. Sweet dreams.”

  
When she leaves, the temperature drops ten degrees.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Most days Olivia dances like a lark. Today is not most days.

“...sidestep...”

“...move back...”

“... now sashay left and- UGH!”

As Olivia tumbles to the ground for the third time in as many minutes, she can’t help but curse her bad luck. This routine had been one of the very first she’d mastered when she had been little more than a tiny toddler twirling around in circles, but recently, she can’t do even a single step from it without falling on her face. Needless to say, these complications aren’t doing wonders for her already shaky self-esteem.

Lifting herself up, Olivia begins the routine once more. This time she doesn’t even make it to the third step before her butt hits dirt. She doesn’t try to get up this time, instead laying on her back and staring up at the blue, blue sky.

For a country seemingly stuck in perpetual winter, Regna Ferox is quite beautiful. Olivia loves the way sunlight glints off the icicles, casting beams of color over the white expanses of snow and making her feel like she’s walking through a rainbow. It’s the small details like these that have gotten her accustomed so quickly to her new home.

Home- that’s a word she hasn’t gotten to use in a long time. She guesses the caravan she’d traveled in with her old theater troupe was the closest thing she’d ever had to one, if that even counted. Yet after only a few weeks, this icy castle already feels like more of a home than that rickety wagon ever did. This is thanks in no small part to the people in it.

Olivia has traveled much in her young life, yet she has never come across a group as open and welcoming as the Feroxi. It’s completely true that they value brute strength above all else, but she’s also learned that a Feroxi will just as quickly invite you in for dinner as challenge you to a duel. Even the servants have been exceedingly friendly towards her, freely sharing their histories without any of the awkwardness she feels whenever talking to a stranger. Who would have guessed that Gavin the carpentry boy is a piano prodigy or that quiet Marcie the maid has no less than five lads pining for her back home?

However, there is one person in the castle she still knows next to nothing about: Basilio's champion and right hand man, Lon’qu. With a name like that there’s no way he’s from this continent; Lon’qu is definitely a western name, not quite Valmese but still not of their land. Chon’sin, perhaps? She wishes she could ask the man himself, perhaps enter into a conversation about foreign lands (Behind dance, travelling in Olivia’s other love.)  But it is likely that her wish will go unfulfilled, for she hasn’t seen any sign of the swordsman or his very intimidating weapon since their little meeting in the wood storage room all those weeks ago. What has he been up to since then?

Lon’qu isn’t exactly the friendliest person she’s ever met, but he doesn’t seem to hate her either. Plus he blushes almost as much as she does, which is quite the achievement. They may have gotten off to the wrong foot, but perhaps there's still time to turn things around and make a friend out of the man. Gods know she could use more of those. Closing her eyes, Olivia lets out a small sigh.

A slight breeze rolls by, ruffling her hair. Somewhere high above her, a bird gives a single, melancholy cry. In a few minutes Olivia will rise, dance, fall, rise, and dance once more. But for now, surrounded by the quiet beauty of her home, all she does is rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to promise you all now that no matter how sappy this may get, it will never be romantic. There are not enough friendship fics in this world, so this one will never stray from that.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Feroxi strategy meeting goes just about as well as one would expect.

As far as Lon’qu is concerned, nobility should be left to the nobles, and he should be kept away from all manner of politics at all times. His place is in the midst of battle with the clang of metal on metal ringing through his ears, not sitting at a table with twenty something Feroxi lords who do nothing but argue about the shift in cotton prices. (Sometimes when he’s lucky the arguments get physical, and it’s his job to break them apart. He doesn’t hate the meetings so much then.) 

He drums his fingers against the tabletop, an old habit from his early years that he has yet to break. As usual, he has yet to say a word, just sitting stoically by Basilio’s side. With an energy more akin to a man half his age, Basilio continues the meeting as if it was just ending its first hour and not entering its third. 

"So we'll send 40 barrels of wheat to the Longfort. Does anyone have any objections?" asks the Khan. When no one says anything, Basilio adds, "That's that then. Good gods, take a look at you lot- are you even awake? Look alive you lazy lugs, only one more order of business, and then we can all get back to drinking ourselves to an early grave." Basilio’s eyes scan the room, lingering a few seconds longer on Lon'qu’s face than anyone else's. 

"By now I'm sure you’ve all heard of the brigand problem at Port Ferox. Today the port sent word that the brigands burned three of our ships and seized a storage unit full of goods to be sold.”  Basilio pauses here to give the lords time to shout indignantly. Smiling at the display of solidarity, he continues, “That’s what I hoped you’d say. That’s why I want to send a team over to the port to show these brigands exactly what happens when you mess with the people of Ferox." At this statement, Lon’qu sits up a little straighter. Basilio notices the slight movement, and his smile turns into a grin. 

"Raimi, you will lead the team,” states Basilio to a sleek and poised woman sitting near the end of the table. “Lon'qu will accompany you as my official representative." Lon'qu listens with rapt attention as Basilio lists off the warriors who will join them on their quest. Most of them are the best Ferox has to offer, aside from Basilio himself of course, and there is no doubt in Lon’qu’s mind that they will make adequate traveling companions.

"-And Olivia will join you as well. Those not in attendance today will be alerted, and you all will depart by the end of the week.” Lon’qu’s eyes go wide.

"Hang on.” It is the first thing he has said in three hours; the nobles certainly take note of this if the suspicious looks they send his way are any indication. Lon’qu’s curt nature has not won him many friends in the court, not that he really cares. He is a poor boy from Chon’sin who is good with a sword, nothing more, nothing less; to act like he is anything more would be a lie. 

Surprised at the sudden interruption, Basilio asks, “Is there some kind of problem?” Lon’qu can feel the stares of the group on him.  

“The girl is not a fighter. It would be unwise to bring her along,” he says plainly, not bothering to soften his harsh words. Basilio frowns, his brow furrowing.  

“Do you question my judgement, Lon’qu?” the Khan asks, his normally booming voice deadly quiet. “Do you think my decisions are foolish?” 

“That’s not what I-” Lon’qu begins, but he is silenced by the banging of Basilio’s hand onto the table. 

“Be quiet when I’m speaking to you, boy! You win a couple of tournaments and suddenly you know how to run my country better than I do?” Basilio is not shouting, but his words ring clear and cold in the stone room. “I’ll be damned if I let your silly issue with girls put any of my citizens in danger!”

The two stare each other down, tension crackling between them. Then, throat dry, Lon’qu slowly sits down, overcome by a wretched emotion he hasn’t felt since his days as a dirty street rat lying in the gutters. Basilio doesn’t break his gaze. 

“If you can’t work with Olivia, then you can stay behind. Is that what you’d prefer?” There’s a pause, then Lon’qu shakes his head ever so slightly. Basilio cocks his head. “I didn’t quite catch that. Say it again.” 

“No,” he replies through gritted teeth in a voice barely above a whisper. 

“No what?”

“No, sir.”

The silence in the room is broken only by the awkward shuffling of the lords in their seats. Basilio takes a look at the gathered group.

“Will there be any more objections?”

No one says a word. Without another word in Lon’qu’s direction, Basilio concludes the meetings with some final addendums, then walks out of the room with a flourish. The Feroxi lords all follow behind him, the silence replaced by the usual laughing and goings ons of thei people. Lon’qu is left alone in the room, listening to their idle chatter drift further and further away from him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay, this chapter gave me a ridiculous amount of trouble. At least we're finally hitting the meat of the story. As always, feel free to leave a comment!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She should probably realize by now that things will never go the way she plans them.

Wind, leather, the faint trace of freshly mowed horse manure- Olivia breathes it all in like she’s meeting an old friend after months apart. In a way that is exactly what she’s doing, for these are all the smells of a journey about to begin, and she knows no truer friend than the road. Olivia had been surprised when Basilio’s messenger sent word that she’d be accompanying the party traveling to Port Ferox, but after all they have been through, she trusts Basilio’s judgement on such matters. Besides, there’s nothing like a spontaneous secret mission to break the monotony of castle life. 

The horse beneath her whinnies. If Olivia didn’t know better she’d think the animal is trying to say, “Why yes, it IS a beautiful day to be traveling, isn’t it?” She pats the side of the horse’s neck fondly. Her steed is a beautiful mare, honey brown and dappled with pale spots that remind her of a cube of sugar dissolving in a cup of warm tea. She’s only on loan for this trip, but Olivia has already gotten quite attached to the creature. They’ve only known each other for a few hours, but she’s already taken to calling her Teacake. 

“It certainly is gorgeous out,” Olivia replies. Teacake shakes her head joyfully. 

They’re a small party of fifteen strong traveling as briskly as the Feroxi weather will allow. The maids had assured her that spring was just around the corner, and that any day now the sun would return and it would go from being impossibly cold to just above freezing. Olivia is looking forward to that day, though it is hard to believe their words when she can still see the puff of steam every time she opens her mouth. 

She’s considering braiding Teacake’s hair to match her own when she notices Lon’qu. He’s traveling near the very back of the party, as he’s done since they left the castle. He’s stiff on the horse, eyes planted dead ahead at the coming horizon. She smiles to herself a little; so the famed champion is a poor horseman. Who would have thought? 

Lon’qu doesn’t look like he wants to be bothered, and Olivia is more than happy to leave him to his solitude, but then she sees the look in his mount’s eye and she knows she needs to do something.

Patting the side of Teacake’s neck, Olivia slows down until she’s walking side by side with Lon’qu. He glances over at her but says nothing at her sudden appearance. 

“I’m sorry to bother you but your reins,” she says, lifting her own. “You’re, ah, you’re holding them too tight.” 

She’s prepared for the look this time, the one where it’s not clear if he’s about to thank you or stab you in the side for daring to come within 5 feet of him. Then she sees his hands slowly lower and the tension release from the leather straps. The relief from Lon’qu’s horse is clearly palpable now that her rider is not holding her in a death grip. 

“...Right,” he replies. ‘ Verbose as always,’  she thinks but doesn’t say because Olivia hasn’t gotten this far in her life by saying all the things that come to her mind. Now would be the time to return to her place in the column and get on with her ride, but she’s by his side anyway so she may as well make the most of it. 

“It’s so exciting being out on the road, isn’t it,” she exclaims, more for her own benefit than his. The swordsman looks at her out of the corner of his eye, so she knows he heard her, but doesn't respond. Not one to give up so easily, Olivia continues, “I can’t wait to get to Port Ferox. I wonder what landmarks they have?” 

“We’re going to engage in battle, not to sight see like a pack of tourists,” responds Lon’qu gruffly. Olivia gulps.

“Right. Of course.” The only sound for a long while after that is the soft whump of horse hooves on the dirt path. Olivia glances down at her hands. Is it always going to be like this? Her trying to be friendly and accidentally pushing some button she doesn’t even know he has? She frowns then, unexpectedly annoyed. 

“...This is your first time leaving the castle,” says Lon’qu suddenly. Olivia looks up, not sure she heard him right. It’s more of a statement than a question, but she latches onto it since it’s more than he’s offered up in all the time she’s known the man. 

“Yes! I mean, I’ve gone down to the village by the castle, but this is my first time heading to a new part of Ferox,” she replies eagerly. If there’s one topic it’s confident in, it’s this one. 

“The Port is hardly new. It’s one of the oldest parts of the country,” he replies. She notices how he’s not looking at her, eyes still straight ahead, but she decided not to mention it. She’s lucky he’s speaking to her at all.  

“You know a lot about the history for a non-native.” She means it as a compliment, but as soon as the words are out of her mouth she realizes how insensitive they sound. Luckily, Lon’qu seems to take no offense for he just shrugs.   

“I can’t be expected to defend a place I know nothing about.” 

“So I assume this isn’t your first trip to the town?” 

“Again, we’re not on a trip. We are going to do battle.” 

“Right. I must admit I don’t really like thinking about that part,” says Olivia with a sheepish grin. She must have said the wrong thing, however, because there is a slight shift in Lon’qu’s features, almost too subtle to notice.   

“Why come along if you’re not going out onto the battlefield?” he asks.

“Oh no, that’s not what I meant, I’m still going to go out on the field! I don’t Basilio would  have let me come if I wouldn’t be useful in some way.” He raises an eyebrow at this.

“You know how to fight?” Olivia represses a sigh. Why do people always ask that?  

“I have a bit of training with the sword. But mostly, well I-...I dance.”  There’s a pause then. He looks at her for the first time the whole trip.

“And exactly how is prancing about useful during a battle?” 

Olivia wonders if she heard him wrong. Her mouth draws into a tight line as she struggles to find the words to express just how deeply his words have cut.  

“Maybe my dances aren’t so heroic as cutting down a soldier, but I don’t appreciate you talking down about them when you haven’t even seen one.” Her voice wavers slightly; Olivia can’t even remember the last time she’s felt so livid. There’s a shocked look on his face, but she doesn’t stick around long enough to hear his retort.With a slight flick of her reins, Teacake gallops forward toward the front of the column.

She can feel his eyes on her back the rest of the trip, but she ignores him. After all, it has never done her any good wasting time where she’s not wanted. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lon'qu starts one battle and ends another.

He needs to apologize. 

He tells himself he’s going to apologize before they make camp for that night, but she stays several horse lengths away from him the rest of the ride, and he can’t quite bring himself to bridge that short gap. 

He tells himself he’s going to apologize that night at dinner, but she moves away from him when he draws near, and he knows this time it’s intentional. 

He tells himself he’s going to apologize when they’re heading in for the night, but he runs into her and the words stick in his throat and she’s gone without a trace. (She saw him. He knows she did. She looked right at him, then through him, as if he wasn’t even there.) 

He doesn’t try again after that. If anyone on the team notices anything odd, that Basillio’s right hand man and his favorite golden child are unbearably cold towards one another, then they are smart enough not to say anything about it. They travel swiftly and quietly and whenever their voices rise up in in raucous laughter, Lon’qu’s is never among them. But life on the road is still better than wasting days away at the castle, so he can’t really complain.   

It should be obvious that after things go so well for so long that something was bound to snap. The gods were never ones to gift him long term happiness. 

The rebels attack at dawn. Lon’qu hears the fighting before he sees it, woken from a dreamless slumber by the familiar clang of steel on steel. He doesn’t even have time to pull on something other than his small clothes before one finds their way into his tent. There was a time when the sight of the blood staining his steel as he pulled it out of his enemy’s body would have bothered him. That time is long passed. 

He takes down two more on the path between his tent and the barracks. His moves like poetry, his arms swinging in time to a music only he can hear. Combat is an art form and he is the brush. 

But he’s tired from all the travel and his mind is still too focused on how he’s going to apologize to a certain pink haired woman and that’s how he ends up with a sword in his shoulder and no air in his lungs. 

The person who felled him can’t be more than a child, fifteen at most. Even with the pain coursing through his body, he smirks. He was the same age when he made his first kill as well. He closes his eyes then and the last thing he thinks of is Ke’ri’s face. 

But its not the last thought at all, because a moment later there’s a yelp and then a completely different shadow is standing over him. 

“Lon’qu, MOVE!” 

Heaven is pinker than he thought it would be. When he finally gets his wits about him he sees not angels, or Ke’ri, but Olivia, swift footed, quick thinking Olivia, swinging a sword with more force than he thought her slight body to be capable of. He didn’t even know she knew how to hold a sword. 

She’s still standing above him like a sentinel, felling anyone who gets too near as he struggles to get to his feet when one of their clerics swoops in out of nowhere and drags him out of the worst of battle. The last thing he thinks before he loses consciousness is that there are probably no angels in the heavens quite like her. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life is a lot like dancing, minus the music.

This has always been her least favorite part of any battle. 

The fear she can handle. The feeling of stabbing a blade through someone else’s body she can (almost) handle. But the waiting? The waiting is what kills her.

It has been three days since the bandits attacked their group. What had seemed to be a completely random occurrence had actually turned out to be nothing of the sort; having heard that the Khan was sending a group to deal with him, the bandits from the port came down the road to take matters into their own hands. 

The bandits had outnumbered them almost three to one, but those hand picked by the Khan hadn’t been so for a lack of battle prowess. 

After nearly 8 hours of fighting, the battle ended, but at what cost? Well, that was yet to be seen. 

The flap to the cleric’s tent opens wide, pulling Olivia from her reveries. Her nails leaving tiny crescent moon marks into her hands, she asks in a strained voice, “Is he...Is he okay?” 

“The worst of it is passed. It’ll be another day or so before you can see him though.” 

The woman may as well have stopped talking after ‘the worst of it is passed’ because Olivia doesn’t hear anything after that. She takes a moment to process the cleric’s words, then the relief hits her so hard that she is brought to her knees, tears streaming down her face while the cleric frantically asks what is wrong. 

When they finally let her see him, she doesn’t know what to say. 

He looks horrible. The shoulder that the boy stabbed has been stitched to the best of their abilities with their limited supplies. His skin looks papery gray and his breathing is shallow, but he’s alive, he’s alive, and that’s all that really matters. He turns one eye towards her when she walks in but says nothing. 

“How do you feel?” she asks and she hates that she can’t bring herself to look him in the eye.  There’s a reason that they say old habits die hard. 

“It’s not the worst I’ve ever been,” he replies simply. 

“Good. I’m, um, I’m glad you’re feeling better.” There are so many things she wants to say, but as always her heart moves faster than her mouth. The clerics move around them as they stare at each other in complete silence. She almost can’t remember why she’d been so worried. 

“You saved me during the battle,” Lon’qu says finally. It’s more of a statement that a question, but that doesn’t stop Olivia from nodding and answering,

“Y-yes, that was me I suppose?”

“What do you mean ‘suppose’? Did you or did you not save me when I made such a foolish mistake-gah!” 

His whole body jerks as he tries to sit up, then falls back on the pallet like a limp rag doll. Olivia reaches forward to help him but the way he physically recoils from her, as if she’s something disgusting by her very nature, makes her pull back. 

“Earlier, when you held your sword,” he says, his back to her. “Your grip was completely off and your stance needs work.” Olivia huffs, a retort on the tip of her tongue. Who was he to complain when she had been the one saving him? But before she can say something, he continues, 

“ But I’ve never seen movements like that in battle. You’re...better than I expected. I appreciate your aid.”

“Thank you. That means a lot,” she says sincerely. 

“Perhaps I could show you some of my moves and you could show my how to improve my grip...when you’ve recovered of course.” 

It’s a bold request as far as Olivia goes and she regrets the words as soon as they’re out of her mouth, but before she can take them back there’s the slight incline of his head into what can only be a nod. 

Olivia smiles. 


End file.
